


Last Day of Winter

by simplesetgo



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo/pseuds/simplesetgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Seeker Porn Battle, prompt double penetration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Day of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> aka adventures with strange prose continue

Outside, snow is falling thick and silent, white perfection coating everything, hiding flaws and masking trails, erasing the past. And inside, there’s a low-burning fire in the hearth, and a rug that’s bigger than the bed—big enough for the three of them. Kahlan’s on her back there under Cara crouched over her; the rug is rough on her palms as Cara sinks her thighs down onto that length of rigid hardness strapped to Kahlan’s hips, sinks down and stays there, coupled but still, and falls forward, buries her face between Kahlan’s soft breasts and breathes in like it’s her favorite place to be. Moans when Richard shifts behind her, lines up with his hand on her backside, and pushes, pushes, pushes with his own hardness until he’s where Kahlan isn’t. Cara’s body taut as a bowstring, alight with a pulsing desire, filled with a violent lust, filled with the both of them, filled by Richard and Kahlan and everything they are and it feels like the first time they did this; that first time when Richard kissed Cara and then Cara kissed Kahlan and the world didn’t burst apart at the seams, didn’t burst into flames and darkness.

Cara’s hips rock a little; her back arches, testing the feeling, testing that aching and overwhelming fullness, and it’s Kahlan that pushes up with her own hips. Her thighs are strong, Kahlan’s, and there’s a lightness in her blue eyes that Cara answers with a grin, with a thrust back against the both of them, insistent, commanding, telling them to get on with it, to take her like she wants to be taken, to take her like they’re the only people in the world she would allow to.

Richard grunts, hands gripping tight on Cara’s hips, and he finds a pace, slow because Cara’s body has forgotten this, slow because he cares, and Cara’s back twists a little, a sinuous curve to let her look over her shoulder at him. “Lord Rahl,” she says, and her tone says everything else for her. His mouth quirks, falls into an easy smile, falls wide open when Cara thrusts back hard, impaling herself on him, the burn of it nearly bringing tears—but not quite—Kahlan almost slipping free of her as she does.

Finally Cara can be still, can relax, forehead laid to the warmth of Kahlan’s chest. Kahlan’s hips are rocking into Cara, undulating against the rug to push up as best she can, and that thickness between her thighs is teasing out Cara’s need until it’s dripping down her skin. Richard is meeting Kahlan’s pace, pushing in with Kahlan, and Cara is filled, emptied, filled, and she moans; groans out her pleasure, grunts her approval and her want for more, and Richard gives it to her with a sudden increase, a sudden burst of power. He drives into her, sets his own pace fast and hard and Cara yelps, grits her teeth. “Slow down, you’re hurting her,” says Kahlan, and Cara pants out, “Don’t you dare.”

“I know, I know,” Kahlan soothes, and pushes up onto her elbows, lifting Cara’s head with her. “You’re Mord-Sith.”

Cara tilts her head up to stare at her; eyes glazed, brow furrowed deep, she gazes at Kahlan and concentrates on those blue eyes, the way they’re dark and focused completely on her own, concentrates on that release that Richard is forcing up in her, the way Kahlan is moving her hips, providing a little stimulation, a little push toward the edge all her own and Cara would miss it if it wasn’t there. She looks into Kahlan’s eyes and gets lost, lost because her body is screaming at her, screaming every good thing it feels until she can’t feel anything else. Halves of words leave Cara’s lips, meaningless, and Kahlan smiles, kisses her, lips soft and tongue softer, licking into Cara’s mouth when she moans, and the taste and feel of Kahlan’s tongue on her own is too much; not enough; perfect and immeasurable.

She’s done waiting: Cara’s done letting them do all the work and begins her thrusts back against Richard’s in earnest, her body suddenly damp with sweat sliding against Kahlan’s, Cara’s breasts heavy and sensitive and rubbing, gliding, set against Kahlan’s skin. “Don’t stop, Richard,” Kahlan says, because Cara can’t; this is what they do to her. But Richard isn’t stopping; he’s a machine, his movements exactly what Cara needs and he knows because they are not strangers to each other’s bodies, not anymore. His hips meet Cara’s skin again and again and Kahlan readjusts; slips a hand between their shifting bodies, sliding down to where their sexes meet, hips pressed together, to where that unnatural hardness is wreaking perfect havoc on Cara’s body with every little movement inside her. Slender fingers find that place, right above, and tease and twist, rub and pinch, and Cara’s shuddering, breaking, a mess of blonde hair and golden skin and pleasure. Every muscle in her groin clenches; spasms, and Richard’s heavy breaths are loud behind her, his rough fingers biting, gripping her as he spills inside, as Cara collapses on Kahlan’s chest, head to her shoulder, panting, breath hot against Kahlan’s skin, Kahlan’s hair.

The bed is too small for three to love; for three to sleep is difficult, but not impossible. Kahlan’s body is warm, skin smooth under her fingers, a gentle rise and fall in the curve of her breast under Cara’s palm; and Richard’s muscles are her backbone, her strength for now, pressing to her spine, his chest wet with sweat and the musk of it’s a comfort to her. She’s sore; her openings ache, both of them, but it’s a good ache, the kind that makes Cara rest her head a little closer to Richard’s. It's the eve of something and the crest of something else; a window is cracked; snow is blowing inside, a bit, but it’s no match for freshly stoked flames and a place to keep them: a superior perfection.


End file.
